


Love Unchained

by MistressKat



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Crack, Deliberate Purple Prose, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If Doyle wasn’t a broken man yet, he wasn’t far off.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Unchained

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the [Broadstairs Bacchanalia](http://broadstairsbacc.livejournal.com/) writing exercise where we all wrote a fic to a randomly picked fandom and prompt (mine was ‘prison fic’) but with a twist of making it _as purple as possible_ :D Enjoy the resulting literary masterpiece!

Doyle knelt in the harsh gravel of the prison yard. His plump lips were no longer an arch of luscious sensuality suggestive of slow, soft kisses, but instead split by the cruel fists of his tormentors. Blood ran down his chin, crimson droplets staining the proud column of his neck; all the pain and suffering painted in red on the canvas of his beaten body. He could feel the tender skin of his face already blooming with the bruises, like purple flowers of injustice marking his new life.  
  
The only thing Doyle was guilty of was putting his trust in his former employers and in Her Majesty’s Court Service; the former had framed him for a crime he did not commit and the latter had believed the false accusations over Doyle’s word. And here he was, in prison like a lamb thrown in front of wolves, crooks he’d sent to HM’s pleasure in the past now practically frothing at the mouth for a chance to extract their vengeance and a pound or two of flesh while at it.  
  
For two weeks Doyle had fought, talked faster than he ever had, and then fought some more when that failed – desperate to survive. But with every passing when no reprieve came hope dimmed like the sun escaping the encroaching shadows of despair, creeping little further with each shouted insult, each stinging blow, determined to drag him to the pit.  
  
If Doyle wasn’t a broken man yet, he wasn’t far off. No longer could he find any reason to rise up and meet his attackers, to fight back. ‘Better it ends now,’ he thoughts, closing his tired eyes and letting his mind drift, like a swallow riding the autumn breeze, flying away from earthly worries…  
  
Surprisingly, however, no more blows came. Instead, a voice – low and dangerous, smooth like silk over a steel blade – said: _“Let him go.”_  
  
Miraculously, the men holding Doyle down obeyed.  
  
“Get lost now,” the voice continued.  
  
Nothing happened at first.  
  
Finally, the quiet _‘Go!’_ was like a lash of a whip and the crowd scattered.  
  
Then it was only Doyle and his mysterious rescuer left, breathing together in the sudden silence. Cautiously, Doyle lifted his head. The midday sun blinded him so that at first the figure in front of him appeared hazy, ethereal like an angel or a demigod from the myths of the old. His hair was dark like the night, a tanned, calloused hand steady and strong as he pulled Doyle to his feet.  
  
“There you go,” the man said – for of course he was only a man and not some divine presence, but one that took Doyle’s breath away nonetheless. He was dressed in a drab prison uniform that did nothing to hide the muscles shifting underneath, his entire being reminiscent of a wild animal; bound behind bars but still lethal, still beautiful.  
  
“You’re alright now,” he said, and Doyle – heart hammering with something other than fear for the first time in weeks – believed him.


End file.
